Without You
by Alex4
Summary: Takes place a few weeks after Doyle has died. A trip inside Cord's head.


  
TITLE: Without You  
AUTHOR: Alex Queirolo  
EMAIL ADDRESS: codered007@earthlink.net mailto:codered007@earthlink.net  
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: It's going to go to  
http://www.angelfire.com/co/alexfic/index.html  
  
All others, ask.  
SPOILER WARNING: Up to Parting Gifts of ANGEL.  
RATING: PG  
FEEDBACK: I live off of it. Please.  
CONTENT WARNING: Angst, a couple of words and some  
liquor.  
SUMMARY: First person Cordy in a very dark place  
after Doyle's death. C/D with B/A similarities.  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own the characters..Joss does. If I  
did, they'd be treated a lot better and there would be  
no Riley Finn.  
MUSICAL NOTES: The lyrics are Sarah McLachlan. The  
title is owed to Harry Nilsson.  
  
  
"And I have the strength to recognize  
that I don't know how to let you go"  
  
******  
  
  
She was never my best friend.   
  
That helped. A little at least. I mean I respected her  
I guess. I counted on her at the very least and I knew  
that she'd always come through. That's respect, right?  
  
Either way, it helped that I kept her at some kind of  
distance. It meant that I could close my eyes at night  
and know that the shadows weren't always lurking  
around my bed ready to get me. It meant that I was  
safe.  
  
Since he died two weeks ago, I don't feel so safe. Not  
anymore.  
  
I just feel lonely. And afraid.  
  
He was a dork. Aren't they all? I seem to have a  
problem with dorks. They flock to me and I take them  
in. Someone has to. Xander. Wesley. Doyle.   
  
Doyle.  
  
His name rolls over my tongue and sticks. It courses  
through my mind and then rewinds itself and does it  
again. Just like his death scene. Over and over. The  
things I should have said before he was gone. The ways  
I should have stopped him. The things I could have  
done.  
  
Nothing.  
  
hat's what Angel says. He puts his large hand on my  
shoulder and squeezes. Then he gives me those big  
soulful eyes that Buffy fell in love with and tells me  
that's it's not my fault. And he wants to say more, I  
can see it- but he doesn't. That's not his way and I  
get that.  
  
His way is to close himself up inside of the darkness  
and die a little bit more.  
  
I can't do that. I don't want to do that.  
  
I feel like I'm doing that. And I'm scared.  
  
He lost Buffy. The love his life. And then when he had  
the chance to have her back, to hold her in his arms,  
world without end, he gave it back so that there would  
be a world not to end. And now he's alone again. Sure,  
he has me and he has Wesley but it's so different. So  
very different.  
  
She understands the demons that keep him awake at  
night. The ones that force him to curl into a ball  
when I'm sure he thinks no one is around to call him  
on it.  
  
The night I crashed over there at his place..the one  
before I got my new apartment..I heard him crying out.  
He's not a peaceful sleeper. I almost got up a couple  
of times but really, what could I have said? What  
would I have said when all he wants in the world is  
the comfort of her arms?  
  
I struggle with that.  
  
Part of me really wants to walk up to him, give him a  
good shove and scream at him to go after her. He loves  
her and so what if they can't get horizontal..at least  
they can enjoy the comfort of a good conversation or a  
good laugh.  
  
Not anymore.   
  
Because Buffy's back in Sunnydale. And Doyle's dead.  
  
I'm alone. And he's alone.  
  
His pain is eternal. Without her, he is incomplete. At  
least he knows that. It sucks but at least he has a  
place to start from. Don't ask me where he's supposed  
to be going. Haven't a clue. Just the same, at least  
he knows.  
  
I don't know what I am.  
  
I feel empty. And I wonder if maybe if I watch this  
tape a thousand times more if the pain will begin to  
go away and lave me some peace.   
  
Fateful last words, right?  
  
So why is "damn him" all I can think? And why do I  
want to find those stupid oracles and beat them until  
they bleed? Even if they will probably then proceed to  
turn me into something icky and green.  
  
He was honest. Just like Xander. Both of them weren't  
exactly bold but they were far from sly. They couldn't  
keep a secret to save their lives. Well not when it  
came to lust and all that. Xand was all about getting  
smoochies and then we actually ended up liking each  
other. Never figured for that.  
  
Doyle. Well he was even less sly than Xander. I heard  
him talking to Angel about asking me out and I thought  
to myself, sure..okay but I'm gonna make him work for  
it. Make him sweat. Weed him out if all he's thinking  
about is the carnal stuff.  
  
But he wasn't thinking about that at all. Well he was.  
Of course he was. But that wasn't it. He was actually  
gone on me. He died for me.  
  
For me. And for Angel.  
  
Bang. Gone.  
  
Doyle.  
  
Sometimes I wish I was more of a drinker. Sometimes I  
wish that my poison was something more intense than  
white wine on a good day and red on a shit day.  
Sometimes I wish that I could drink the way Angel does  
and Doyle did. Knock the pain back and away. Forget.  
If only for five minutes.  
  
Wouldn't that be something?  
  
So I miss him. That's what all the crying is about. I  
miss him. And I want him back.  
  
I want to see him grinning at me. I want to hand him  
Motrin as he knocks his head against the table in an  
inane attempt to make his head stop thumping after  
he's pounded a few too many brewskies.  
Hey now, I know the terminology. Remember, most of  
whom I dated back in high school were jocks who were  
always pounding the liquor. Only they were doing it  
because it was "cool" and they were supposed to. Doyle  
did it to forget. Angel still does.  
  
So here I am. A shot glass filled to the top with  
Vodka. A can of Mountain Dew sitting next to it.  
  
Always makes me think of Xander.  
  
Now he wasn't much of a drinker but the guy was  
constantly toked on soda. Anything with caffeine. He  
and Willow. Maximum Dewage all the time.  
  
To be honest, I've never really done shots. Doyle had  
mentioned that he would show me how one of these crazy  
old nights when the two of us retreated from the  
office and from Angel. We never called it that though.  
We said that we were leaving the boss alone with his  
brooding but the reality of it was, we couldn't handle  
his heartache. It was depressing.  
  
Now I feel it.  
  
I miss him.  
  
I lift up the little shot glass and turn it around in  
my palm. It says Pokey's on it. That's the name of a  
seedy little West Los Angeles bar that we went into  
about four days before he died. He said that he was  
having a headache, not a sight one..oh and we'll get  
to that later by the way..but one of those life sucks  
kinda bangers. So we went down there and he drank for  
awhile and I sipped wine. Meanwhile this greasy  
guy..total ick factor... is looking down my cleavage  
and trying to pick up on me. Like he had a chance.  
Doyle had more of a chance to get the whole package  
right on the floor of that bar than the dirty man had  
of me even acknowledging his existence other than as  
the person who was refilling my wine glass.  
  
Anyways, both of us are buzzed as we're leaving and  
the barkeeper tells us that we should buy something to  
remember our honeymoon by. Doyle blushes. I'm cruising  
and not caring. Doyle throws the guy a twenty for  
something wrapped in paper and we leave. We go back to  
my place and I crawl into bed. He sleeps on the couch  
being annoyed by Dennis all night. Come morning, we  
open the package to see the shot glass. Honeymoon. As  
if. We had a good laugh about it. He took it out of  
the paper and put it up with the rest of his glasses.  
  
That's one of the first things I took from his  
apartment.  
  
So here I am again. Only this time I'm in my  
apartment. I'm sitting in front of my television which  
is off but I'm staring at it anyways. And I have this  
shot glass in my hand and damn is the room shaking. Oh  
wait, no..that's me I guess. I'm shaking.  
  
Again.  
  
Okay. I can do this. I can focus my thoughts. I can be  
in control. I am a strong woman. I control my destiny.  
I don't need a man to validate me..  
  
No. I don't need him. But I miss him and I want him  
back in my life.  
  
Sure, he left me this groovy gift.  
  
And yes,,with strange help from Barney, I realize that  
Doyle did give me the most important thing he had..the  
ability to make a difference. But really, couldn't it  
have come with a complimentary head massager at the  
very least? I mean, I never was key about head banging  
but I'm thinking of taking up with a rock group soon  
if I get another one of those slammers.  
  
He hated them as much as I do. But he put up with them  
with a little bit of good-natured gripping. Okay..I'm  
starting to smear my makeup again. Damn him..this  
would amuse him way too much.  
  
Okay. Back to the liquor.   
  
It's in my hand again.  
  
And suddenly I'm back to her.  
  
Buffy.  
  
And how this all started.  
  
With her.  
  
That's not fair. Not exactly. I think she would have  
much preferred to stay out of my way. Didn't happen  
like that and I got messed up in her screwy little  
world. Even if I held it at arms' length.  
  
But then my own life turned upside down and it was  
Angel, her demon lover who save my ass and then helped  
me out by giving me a job and a purpose and something  
to do that actually meant something real.  
  
So even though I tried to keep my life from changing  
by making sure that I was never really completely one  
of her friends, this didn't work out that way. Weird.  
  
"Drink, princess."  
  
I can almost hear that. In my head, you know. That's  
what he'd be saying. He said that my sipping drove him  
nuts. Took too long to get the desired effect. I'd  
always remind him that my intents were different than  
his. He'd reply in his heavy accent, "True enough,  
princess."  
  
I rewind the video tape and silently promise that when  
he says his last words, I'll toast him and finally say  
goodbye.  
  
I hit play on my VCR and suddenly there he is. Only  
now I know the words by heart. Only now I feel the  
words. I say them as he does and I feel a tear trace  
down my cheek. I brush it away but it's followed by  
another.  
  
This calls for a pep talk.   
  
Okay. Better now. Continue.  
  
He moves around the screen nervously, pleading me to  
let him go. No way. Stick there handsome. Keep going.  
We both know the drill by now. Might as well get this  
over with.  
  
"Is that it? Am I done?"  
  
I lift the glass up to my lips and I tip it back. I  
can feel the tears spilling down my cheeks in waves.  
Too many. God, this hurts.  
  
I taste it in my mouth. It's bitter. More so than I  
would have ever imagined. I can barely swallow it. I  
almost spit it out . I squeeze my eyes shut though and  
force it down. I can do this. I am my own master. Even  
grief can not triumph over me.  
  
Right?  
  
I grab for the soda and use it to wash the liquor  
down. Quickly. But I can still taste it in my throat.  
And then I fall.  
  
I'm on the ground. No, no, no. I've got to do this.  
I've got to say goodbye. I've got to..  
  
I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up hoping it's  
him even though I know it's not.  
  
This ain't no fairy tale princess. All the tears in  
the world can't bring the prince home.  
  
That's it. I'm gone.  
  
The glass slips out of my hand and I'm in a ball on  
the ground. Oddly, the hand is still there. I don't  
think much of it though. Because I know it's not his.  
  
"Shh.." a voice says. I know it's Angel but I don't  
care. I wonder why he's here but I don't think long on  
it. He pulls me up and against him and I find myself  
folding into his chest. I can see now why Buffy liked  
it. It's big and you can lose yourself in it.  
Especially when all you want is for the world to take  
it's crap elsewhere.  
  
He knows why I'm crying so he saves us both the time  
and trouble of asking what's wrong. He just rocks me.  
Like he doesn't know what else to do. He doesn't. He's  
just as helpless. He couldn't stop himself from losing  
Buffy anymore than I could stop myself from losing  
Doyle.  
  
I just wish...  
  
Dammit, no. Best not to go there. Madness.  
  
I just wish I could have told him how much he meant to  
me.  
  
Problem is..like always, I don't figure it out until  
too late. I didn't realize how much Xander meant to me  
until I saw our relationship come apart in front of  
me. And I didn't realize how much I looked forward to  
seeing Doyle every day until I didn't.  
  
Until I couldn't.  
  
Because he's dead now.  
  
Angel lifts me up and brings me into my bedroom.  
Vaguely, I can hear the sounds of sheets being pulled  
back. He lays me under them, covers me up and then  
sits on the side of my bed. He brushes my hair out of  
my eyes. "It'll be okay," he promises, using the tone  
of someone who doesn't really believe it but has had  
to live by it his entire life. Like a mantra. After  
all, the good guys are supposed to win. Right?  
  
Slowly I begin to drift. I put my hands out towards  
the velvet cloak of dark and start to move towards it.  
And then I fall into it. I think maybe he'll be there.  
  
***  
  
Morning comes soon enough and with it, a pounding  
headache. Not a hangover..there wasn't enough alcohol  
involved for that. More like the kind of slammer you  
get when you're emotionally drained. When you haven't  
got anything left to give. That's me. The Drajno girl.  
Call my agent pronto.  
  
When I come out of my room, he's sitting there. Angel  
that is. He's sitting in a chair facing the bedroom  
and I can tell that he's been there all night.  
Watching. Protecting. Like's it all he can do.  
  
It is.  
  
He gets up when he sees me. "Hi,uh.."  
  
I smile and wave him off. He's never been good with  
words and the stammering might just give me a  
headache. I appreciate the thought and the gesture.  
Words mean nothing.  
  
I go into my kitchen and start a pot of coffee. When I  
look back, he's leaning against the doorframe. He  
opens his mouth to speak, shuts it and then opens it  
again. "You okay?"  
  
I smile weakly. "No. Go on."  
  
And that's that.  
  
It's not open season and I'm not anymore ready to  
share my pain than I am to let go of Doyle. I know it.  
I feel it. He knows it too. We're the same in that.  
Both holding on. Both so damn unsure of how to let go  
and both absolutely unwilling to anyways. Buffy.  
Doyle. Whatever.  
  
"Okay. Uh..the office.."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It's Saturday.."  
  
"I don't come in on Saturdays," I reply simply, almost  
smiling. I know what he's trying to say and I could  
save him the trouble but it's almost amusing.  
  
"Right. Okay. I'll see you Monday then."  
  
"Monday then," I say. He nods, offers another smile  
and I know for certain that he'll be watching my place  
again tonight to make sure I'm alright. Watching me  
cry while his heart breaks a little more with each  
moment he's apart from Buffy. "Bye."  
  
"Bye," Angel replies. He taps the doorframe once, a  
nervous motion I'm sure and then he ducks his head and  
slips back out into the early morning dusk. I hear a  
sound and I know he's entered the sewer system. He's  
gone and I'm once again alone with my pain.  
  
And my knowledge that one drink and a thousand hours  
spent viewing that damn tape will never add up to  
goodbye.  
  
I pour my coffee, look at it and then put it down. I  
glance at it once again and then move back towards my  
bedroom. This is not a day I'm ready to start dealing  
with. Not quite yet. Soon maybe.  
  
Later.  
  
When I can figure out how to stand.  
  
-Fin  
  
  



End file.
